


Familiar Ground

by unamaga



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Camping, Companionable Snark, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unamaga/pseuds/unamaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey,” Stiles says, “do fairies exist? Is it reasonable to believe that fairies exist?”</p>
<p>Derek glances up from his messy work, kneeling in the dirt next to the fire, and quirks an eyebrow. “If I say yes, and that you have to hop around on one foot while yelling at the top of your lungs to talk to them, would you?”</p>
<p>Stiles gives this due consideration. “Probably not. Just because, y’know, I might draw the attention of bears. And get eaten.”</p>
<p>“Too bad,” Derek says darkly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiar Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kashmir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashmir/gifts).



> Julie prompted: "WRITE ME A FIC WHERE DEREK COOKS FOR STILES!" This should have been funnier, but I have too many feelings is basically what it comes down to.

Stiles knows he’s been sitting in front of the fire too long, but it’s too cold for him to honestly think about moving further away. His hands ache, freshly defrosted and chapping, and his lip is split in what feels like fifteen different places; he feels like a giant baby, even though logically he knows better than to compare himself to the morons he hangs out with. They shake off bullets like water, moisturizing is beyond them.

Oh, and there goes his stomach.

He glares at it; he’d been doing very well ignoring the fact that he’s so hungry he could eat a literal bear. He’s so busy glaring, in fact, that it takes him a full minute to realize there’s something gray and bleeding at his feet.

“Holy god!” he yelps, and scrambles backwards until he falls off the log he’d been sitting on.

The gray thing is a rabbit. He’s going to kill Derek.

“What, don’t you like it?” Derek says, suddenly looming above him. He’s smirking with his entire face. Stiles hates him.

“You’re a sick little man, aren’t you,” Stiles says.

Derek’s smirk widens, but he doesn’t take the bait. “Ever skin a rabbit?” he asks instead. When Stiles stares at him incredulously, Derek says, “My mistake,” and picks the rabbit up himself. Stiles tries not to watch while he rights himself on the log, because, wow, that’s not something he ever wants to know how to do. He’d rather buy his meat at the grocery store and pretend some sort of mystical meat fairy is responsible for it all.

“Hey,” Stiles says, “do fairies exist? Is it reasonable to believe that fairies exist?”

Derek glances up from his messy work, kneeling in the dirt next to the fire, and quirks an eyebrow. “If I say yes, and that you have to hop around on one foot while yelling at the top of your lungs to talk to them, would you?”

Stiles gives this due consideration. “Probably not. Just because, y’know, I might draw the attention of bears. And get eaten.”

“Too bad,” Derek says darkly.

Werewolf claws are apparently very, very good at gutting and slicing; Derek has the rabbit ready and roasting over the fire in a matter of minutes. It doesn’t take long before the meat is turning dark and the smell of animal grease is filling their little clearing.

“Do you do this a lot?” Stiles asks curiously. “You seem pretty familiar with everything.”

Derek’s silent for so long that Stiles figures he’s not going to get an answer. Then, “My dad loved to camp.”

“Yeah?”

Derek stares at the fire. “Meat’s done,” he says, subdued.

Stiles eats as quietly as he knows how, and wipes his greasy fingers on his clothes even though he knows he’ll hate himself later. It seems strangely important that he not act like his typical boisterous self for a couple of minutes to give Derek’s grief some room. It’s big enough that even Stiles can feel it, pressed up against his heart and so unspeakably familiar.

“You know,” Stiles ventures, “I think I like this whole camping thing. We should do this more often.” He feels it when Derek glances at him, but he keeps his eyes on his food.

“Yeah,” Derek says finally, and sits down on the log next to him, pressing their sides together warmly from shoulder to hip.

His next breath sounds shaky, but Stiles doesn’t mention it.


End file.
